


Sketchbook

by Murf1307



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Drawing, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Oblivious, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras gets his hands on Grantaire's sketchbook after they have a massive fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sketchbook

**Author's Note:**

> written based on this tumblr post: 
> 
> "no but enjolras picking up one of grantaire’s sketchbooks and it’s just pages and pages of these great swirls of red and gold and marble statues, and there’s this one face, just one, over and over, and enjolras is so confused and he gulps a little and looks up at courf and asks very very quietly if this means that maybe r likes him too
> 
> and courfeyrac
> 
> just
> 
> collapses"

He really shouldn’t open it. It’s Grantaire’s sketchbook, after all, and he’s essentially never without it.

But they’d fought today, and Grantaire had stormed out and left it on the table with one of his drawing pencils (Enjolras knows the difference — this is one Grantaire uses when he’s making long, heavy strokes, probably laying down thick, dark shading — even though sometimes he wishes he didn’t). Everyone else is still here, quiet and still because this had been the worst fight they’d ever had and Enjolras had been so cruel.

He sits down, in the seat Grantaire just vacated, and opens the book.

It’s page after page after page of sketches and charcoal and oil pastels and it’s all the same subject and Enjolras wants to  _cry_  because all this time Grantaire has been drawing  _him_  and the drawings are  _beautiful_  and Enjolras doesn’t deserve that.

 

God, he’s been so awful, so very awful and all this time Grantaire’s been  _drawing him_  and why, why would he do that? They fight all the time, Enjolras had thought Grantaire didn’t even like him because why should he when Enjolras is so downright nasty sometimes. It doesn’t make sense, not at all, not remotely, so Enjolras just sits there, flipping through the pages with shaky hands in the silence.

It’s weird how quiet everyone is being, actually, and he looks up and everyone is _staring_  and Courfeyrac must be able to see the confusion in his face because he comes over and sits down next to him to look over his shoulder at the pictures.

“So, he didn’t hate me?” Enjolras asks, his voice small.

Courfeyrac stares at him like he’s just said something completely absurd. “No, I’d say he doesn’t.”

And it’s just so much and Enjolras is feeling so much and he can’t keep it all in but he doesn’t know how to express it, so he just lets out this wounded little noise and puts the sketchbook down and puts his head down on the table.

There’s a flurry of activity from the others now and Courfeyrac is rubbing his back tentatively and Enjolras still wants to cry and he’s trying to process everything but there’s just too much because Grantaire is too much and always has been and Enjolras has always been at a loss with how to handle him and his — his _everything_.

And now he’s gone and ruined it and he’s scared that this time Grantaire won’t come back.

But Grantaire  _has_  to come back for his book and his pencil, right? He has to. Enjolras has the realization quietly and then sits up, marginally more composed. He reaches over and closes the book, lays the pencil on top of it, and pulls out his phone.

He texts Grantaire.

 **Enjolras:**  You left your things here.

He knows it’s not the right thing to say, but  _I miss you_  and  _The drawings are beautiful_  are stuck in his throat and he wants to say them to Grantaire’s face and he’s too cowardly to even apologize properly over text message anyway.

His phone beeps.

 **R:**  Send them back with Jehan.

Enjolras makes another hurt, wordless noise, because there it is. Grantaire doesn’t even want to see him. But he texts back anyway, a little desperate.

 **Enjolras:**  Please come back.

There’s a long pause, and then a back-and-forth flurry of messages.:

 **R:**  Okay, whoever has Enjolras’s phone, this isn’t funny.

 **Enjolras** : Nobody has my phone. I want to apologize and I want to see you.

 **R:**  Are you dying?

 **Enjolras:**  No.

 **R:**  Then what brought this on?

Enjolras isn’t sure how to answer that without admitting to what he’s done, and admitting he’s paged through Grantaire’s sketchbook would be a bad idea. Eventually, he goes for the emotional truth of the matter, if not the circumstantial truth.

 **Enjolras:**  The realization that I could lose you.

There is an even longer pause and Enjolras’s throat tightens and he starts to feel a little sick because that had to have been too much that had to have been and he’s so afraid.

Then:

 **R:**  …No.  No way, you do not get to do this to me.

 **Enjolras:**  Then tell me what to do.  Please.

He’s frustrated and upset and scared, and he’s shaking a little and Courfeyrac is still hanging over his shoulder and patting his back.

His phone doesn’t beep again, and slowly, Enjolras accepts that he’s ruined it for good.  It feels like there’s a hole expanding in his chest and he can’t, he really can’t deal with anything right now.

So he gets up and takes the sketchbook and the pencil and hands them off to Jehan — because that’s what Grantaire had wanted in the first place — and then walks out of the cafe, feeling worse than he ever has in his life.

“Enjolras!” Courfeyrac calls after him.

“No, I’m going home to sleep,” he says, because he needs to do something that isn’t think about Grantaire and he figures that that’s as good as anything.

He’s walking with his head down and his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he walks into someone because he’s not paying attention.

And of course, because the universe hates him, it’s Grantaire.

Grantaire just kind of stares at him confusedly and Enjolras is just so full of  _anguish_  because he ruined everything.

“Are you okay?” Grantaire asks, so it must be showing on Enjolras’s face.

“The drawings are beautiful,” Enjolras says, then realizes he said it.  He smacks his hands over his mouth because no no no, that was an invasion of privacy and he shouldn’t have even touched the book.

Grantaire’s mouth drops open a little.  He flushes.  ”You’re a compelling subject,” he mumbles, almost too soft for Enjolras to hear.

“I’m sorry I ruined everything, I’m terrible.”  Enjolras pulls his hands away from hi mouth and turns away a little so he doesn’t have to meet Grantaire’s eyes.  ”I’m just  _awful_  and I wish I knew how to make it better.”

“No, no,  _no,_  you’re not awful, you’re not,” Grantaire says, shaking his head emphatically.  ” _I’m_  awful.  I always start it.”

“But I keep  _hurting you,_ ” Enjolras says, the last two words almost choked with emotion.  ”I keep hurting you, and for some reason you keep coming back and I don’t want to hurt you anymore but I’m so afraid I don’t know how to manage it and  _please don’t leave._ ”

He’s rambling now, and he knows that none of it makes sense.  ”I thought you hated me, but then I looked in the sketchbook and I —  _why_?”

Grantaire looks poleaxed.  ”I — you — you thought I hated you?”

Enjolras nods.

“I don’t, you know.  I really don’t.”  Grantaire’s voice is soft, and his hand comes up almost as though he’s going to reach out and touch Enjolras, but he aborts the movement and clenches his fist down at his side. 

“Were you going to touch me, just there?” Enjolras asks, voice unsteady.  ”Because I’d like that.”

He’s not sure what he’s doing, but he wants this, he wants Grantaire to touch him and he doesn’t know how else to ask for it.  He swallows, waiting for Grantaire to respond.

“Are you — are you sure you’re okay?” Grantaire asks.

“Yes.  Well, no.  But I — I think I would be if, if, if we…” Enjolras shrugs, looking down at the sidewalk.

Grantaire’s fist unclenches, and he reaches up hesitantly and toys with the end of one of Enjolras’s curls.  Enjolras watches, smile slowly breaking over his face as he looks at Grantaire again.  ”Thank you.”

“Are you — do you —” Grantaire can’t seem to verbalize much of anything, either.

Enjolras blushes and moves his hand to cover Grantaire’s.  He moves it to his shoulder.  ”If you want, I want.”

It sounds weird, even to his ears, and Grantaire looks bewildered.  But he moves his hand over to press it against the side of Enjolras’s neck, and Enjolras hums in contentment, the fear starting to slide away now.

Grantaire makes a soft, punched-out sort of sound, and Enjolras steps closer, not quite sure if he should return the touch or do something more drastic.

“Kiss me?” he winds up asking, only barely managing to hold eye contact with Grantaire.  ”If that’s okay?”

“You want me to?”

“ _Yes_.”

And Grantaire does, and it’s the most wonderful thing.  It’s only a soft press of lips to lips and Grantaire is  _maddeningly_  gentle but Enjolras loves it almost as much as he’s found he loves Grantaire.

When Grantaire pulls back, he looks like the whole world has changed, and Enjolras is pretty sure that’s how this feels.

“I gave your book to Jehan,” Enjolras mumbles into the space between them, reaching up to wind his arms around Grantaire’s neck.  ”I — I was so upset.”

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire says softly, taking Enjolras’s chin between his fingers and kissing him again for just a moment.

“It’s not your fault,” Enjolras objects, but he presses into the kiss again anyway.  ”I just — I’m glad you decided to come back to the cafe.  I was afraid I’d finally driven you away.”

Grantaire shakes his head.  ”You didn’t.”  He pauses.  ”I was actually worried about you.  You’re not usually…demonstrative, not with me.”

“I should have been, though.  You deserve to know you’re loved.”  Enjolras says the last without meaning to, and blushes bright red — of  _course_  he manages to confess his love for Grantaire on accident,  _of course._

“You love me?” Grantaire says, a surprised smile working its way around his mouth.  

Enjolras nods.  ”Do you mind, terribly?”

“Not at all.  Since I, uh, I love you, too.”

Enjolras can likely be forgiven for the enthusiastic kiss with which he responds — he thinks anyone would react that way when first told someone loves them back.

“Thank you,” he mumbles when they pull apart.

“Thank  _you_ ,” Grantaire rebuts.

“Come home with me?” Enjolras asks, sudden and soft and sincere, his face heating.

Grantaire does.


End file.
